


real easy job

by debilitas



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: BL1, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Injury Recovery, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22186831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/debilitas/pseuds/debilitas
Summary: Pandora has a way of ruining Mordecai’s day, in a way he should’ve come to expect by now.
Relationships: Brick/Mordecai (Borderlands)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 71





	real easy job

**Author's Note:**

> commission for becca !! thank you so much <3
> 
> cw for mild violence, blood, and a dislocated shoulder

When Mordecai pictured how today’s mission would go, it involved a lot of perfectly aimed headshots, and plenty of cash at the end. Cash he’d be all too happy to spend on a bottle of sour rakk ale, a pack of smokes, and sunflower seeds for Bloodwing.

Pandora has a way of ruining his day, in a way he should’ve come to expect by now. Instead of being tucked away behind cover, blowing bandits’ heads off before they can even realize he exists, he finds himself wrestling one on a cliff face.

Turns out, a hundred pound sniper’s greatest weakness is being tackled. 

Mordecai had been standing with his back to the cliff's edge, picking off stray bandits from the swarm around Brick. Lily and Roland had long since gone ahead, cutting through the camp with hopes of finding the bandit leader, minus the troops he’d sent out after them.

_Real easy job for badasses like y’all_ , Scooter had told them, in that stupid-as-all-hell accent. Mordecai decides if he makes it out of this alive, he’ll knock the man’s lights out for sending them here.

The bandit on top of him is of average height and build, but that makes him practically devastating to Mordecai’s emaciated form. The initial impact had sent his rifle right out of his hands, leaving it abandoned in the sand below his kicking feet. 

Goggles knocked off and mask askew, Mordecai fights _hard_ to get the other man off of him. Bony arms trembling from strain as he pushes up against strong shoulders, trying to shove the bandit off of him. He just needs a second, one brief mistake to regain the upper hand and fish out the revolver at his hip. Gloved hands find his throat and start to squeeze.

Mordecai audibly chokes, moving his own hands to the man’s face. Tries to go for the eyes, but the bandit raises his chin high, squeezing tighter. The edges of Mordecai’s vision start to blur, lungs screaming for air. In one final escape attempt, he wedges both knees under the man’s abdomen and lifts, praying it’s enough.

It is. The bandit surges forward, grip relenting as he’s sent toppling to his back in the sand above Mordecai’s head. Mordecai scrambles to his feet, still wheezing when he hurriedly removes the old revolver from its holster.

He’s too slow. The bandit rolls over to his knees, grabbing Mordecai by a tiny ankle and _pulls_. He trips forward, falling right over the narrow edge of the cliff. Managing to find some purchase in the rock, he holds on, legs dangling above the sheer drop.

Mordecai tries to climb back up, but is stopped by a heavy boot on the knuckles of one hand. Grunting in pain, he aims the revolver, a look of shock flashing across the man’s face before he pulls the trigger. 

The shot makes his ears ring, and blood spatters across his face. The bandit’s lifeless body collapses, rolling off the cliff and falling the daunting three hundred feet down to the ground below. 

There’s no time to celebrate the victory. Mordecai’s arms are shaking violently, icy wedges of pain shooting all the way up to his shoulders from the strain of supporting his own weight. The sand is too loose for his fingertips to gain any consistent purchase, toes of his boots trying and failing to find any divots in the rock of the cliff face.

He’s slipping, inch by agonizing inch, and soon his arms will simply give out on him.

From his position, Mordecai can make out the image of Brick ripping a bandit’s head clean off their shoulders. There’s a pile of bodies at his feet, only two hostile men left. Why don’t they just send him out for these things?

Throat raw, Mordecai shouts, “ _BRICK!_ ”

The man’s head swivels to see him, and he quickly finishes off the remaining bandits before taking off in Mordecai’s direction.

A sinking pit of despair forms in Mordecai’s gut. He’s yards away from Brick, and losing what little grip he has fast. There’s no way he’ll make it there in time. 

Of all the things on Pandora that could’ve killed him, it’s going to be the goddamn landscape.

Panic sinks in as he continues to slip, clawing uselessly at the sand. The strain in his arms is agonizing now, clouding his brain in a thick fog of pain. Brick’s almost there when his arms completely give out.

Mordecai clenches his eyes shut, expecting a long fall, then the fatal impact at the bottom. Instead, he feels a big hand grab his left wrist.

Brick’s on his belly, top half of his torso hanging off the edge of the cliff. Chest heaving and eyes wide, he, too, seems stunned that he made it.

Before Mordecai can even register that he’s safe, a sickening _pop_ comes from his left shoulder. Then, sharp, all-consuming pain. He cries out, straining his injured throat even more, eyes watering at the corners.

Mordecai’s only vaguely aware of Brick shouting for him to give him his other hand. He limply reaches his right arm up and Brick grabs it, pulling him up. The motion only irritates the dislocated arm, and his tiny chest is heaving with sobs by the time he’s back on solid ground. 

Brick takes an extended second to catch his breath, sitting in the sand with Mordecai hunched over between his legs, panting and gripping his arm.

“ _Carajo_ ,” Mordecai hisses through grit teeth. “ _Hijo de puta!_ ”

“Gotta fix it, Mordy. Here,” Brick touches the arm and Mordecai recoils, in too bad of shape to do much else. “Need somethin’ to bite, ‘cause this is gonna hurt.”

Through the fog of agony, Mordecai isn’t impressed by the man’s bedside manner. He feels something press against his mouth, and looks down to see it’s Brick’s shitty wallet, leather cracked from age. Surrendering to what’s coming next, he bites down. Hard.

Brick’s big hand swallows his left wrist, moving the arm forward and away from him. Mordecai can feel the bone move underneath his skin, groaning loudly through the leather.

_Pop!_

Mordecai collapses against Brick’s chest, gasping for breath. Tears his mask over his head, running a hand over his sweat-soaked face. He can taste the coppery blood leaking from his nose to his mouth. His empty stomach churns, sick from pain and adrenaline, swallowing the bile creeping up his sore throat.

Shakily moving to his knees, he dry heaves into the messy sand beside them. Brick holds his hair away from his face as he does, a single hand on the center of his spasming back.

“I am going to kill Scooter,” Mordecai croaks, wiping the crimson dripping from his nose. Brick snorts. “Don’t laugh. I’m gonna do it.”

They stand— well, Mordecai tries to, at least. His knees shake, head swimming, and he would’ve fallen if not for Brick. Strong hands hold him upright by the armpits, helping him straighten his spine.

Feeling only slightly more steady, Mordecai says, “I got it.” Takes an experimental step forward, and stumbles again. What little muscle he has in his legs aches from the previous strain, body exhausted as the remaining adrenaline seeps out.

“...I don’t got it.”

Brick grunts, grabs Mordecai by the waist, and the ground beneath his feet disappears. Mordecai makes an indignant noise, arm still sensitive to any touch as Brick throws him over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“I gotcha, Mordy,” Brick huffs, shoving Mordecai’s discarded mask into his back pocket. Reaches down in the bloodsoaked sand to pick up the forgotten rifle and revolver. Tucks the latter back into its holster, and carries the rifle in his other hand.

Hanging over a big shoulder, each step jostles Mordecai’s ribcage, threatening to bruise it. The ground below looks thousands of miles away from here: is this how Brick sees the world? It’s nauseating, especially in his current compromised state.

Mordecai balls the polyester of the man’s shirt in a fist, grimacing. Neither of them possess any soft edges, and protruding bone never feels good pressed against hard, unrelenting muscle. Sensing his discomfort, Brick tries to readjust Mordecai’s position, ultimately manhandling him into a completely new one. 

With Brick’s arms hooked underneath him, and Mordecai’s uninjured arm thrown around the other man’s neck, they look like they just got hitched. A terrible ceremony, judging by the blood splashed across their clothes.

Too tired to care about any remaining dignity, Mordecai relaxes his body and lets his lids drift shut. Loses himself in the steady rhythm of Brick’s big heart and the dull ache in his arm. It’ll definitely need a sling, forcing him to navigate Pandora one-handed. Maybe even get him some much needed time off.

“What’d we miss?”

Mordecai cracks a single eye open, seeing Lilith and Roland approach. Noticeably battered, but alive. It’s as much as a vault hunter can hope for.

“Not much,” Mordecai shrugs, wincing when he does. “Our enormous friend here ripped my arm out of its socket.”

“While savin’ his life,” Brick interjects, unamused. “Ain’t my fault you’re bony.”

“Details, _amigo_.”

“Ooh, I bet it’s gnarly!” Lily hurries over to steal a peek, and Brick all but snatches him away. Grips Mordecai’s torso and legs tighter, cheek pressed embarrassingly close against a hard chest. 

“Don’t mess with ‘em. He’s hurt.”

Lilith’s mouth twitches with the threat of a smile, and Mordecai hates the look she’s shooting up at them enough to get down. Hobbles the rest of the long walk back to New Haven, leaning against Brick’s bulk for support. A strong arm on his waist, keeping him upright more than he’d like to admit. 

When the others end up a few feet ahead of them, talking amongst themselves, Mordecai elbows the other man’s ribs to get his attention.

“Hey, uh, thanks for earlier,” Mordecai mumbles, low enough so only Brick can hear. “I would have died without you, man.”

“I should’ve been paying more attention.”

Mordecai frowns. “You make a habit of watching me?” It’s mostly a playful jab, until Brick is suddenly very interested in the sky above. He stares up at it, looking anywhere but at him. “You do!”

“Gotta keep you safe, Mordy.” Brick finally makes eye contact, and Mordecai feels his throat dry. There’s something so honest about that— about _Brick_. 

They look at one another for an amount of time Mordecai can’t count, both waiting for the other to speak. Cut the thick tension with their words, take the first hesitant step into uncharted territory. 

He can still feel the muscles flex around him, holding him tighter against that sturdy chest. The big hands gently keeping hair away from his face. Remembers watching Brick barrel towards him, skidding onto his belly in order to reach him. Squeezing his wrist with all the determination in the world, the only thing protecting him from the deadly precipice. 

They’re both standing at the edge of a cliff now, wondering who will jump first. 

Then, they’re standing in the entrance of New Haven, interrupted by the hustle and bustle of its citizens. Mordecai sees Scooter in his usual spot, and decides he can jump later. Right now, he’s got something more important to do. 

He tears himself away from Brick, approaching the man with a much steadier stride.

“Hey, y’all! How’d that—“

It dawns on Mordecai, right when his knuckles make contact with Scooter’s cheekbone, that he’s never punched anyone before. It hurts a lot more than he expected, reeling from the impact almost as much as the other man.

Lilith can’t suppress her laughter, and Roland is quick to pull him away. Mordecai lets himself be dragged off, content with the revenge. Scooter will be sporting a bruise— hopefully just as long as his arm will be out of commission.

“Told you I’d do it,” Mordecai says later that afternoon, while Brick wraps his shoulder and forearm in a piece of rough cloth. Not the most high end sling, but it’ll get the job done.

Flexing his freshly injured hand, he adds, “Next time, I’ll leave the punching to you.”

“Yeah, you better,” Brick huffs, securing the knot on the back of Mordecai’s neck. He can feel the hot breath on his skin, and he suppresses a shiver.

Turning around to face Brick, Mordecai can see the splash of blood across his chin from the day’s battle. Such a minor result, compared to his own litany of wounds. He has suspicions that the man might be invincible.

Toes now hanging off the edge of their cliff, he reaches to wipe the stain away. Brick lets him.

Mordecai jumps.


End file.
